Photo Prompt: Friday Fictioneers @ rochellewisoff
Meg, angry for letting things get so heated, threw the dishcloth on the counter. She pulled the curtain aside and watched the intensity in which her husband attacked the tree; wielding his new chainsaw like a magic wand. Her heart softened as she watched the muscles in his back tighten and glistening beads of sweat plastered his shirt against chiseled features. A more hardheaded man didn’t exist, but then, there wasn’t another man alive who worked harder or loved her more. She grabbed two cold bottles from the fridge and stepped outside; their stupid argument already forgotten.
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